SAPR

by Scipio Smith

Battle in the Skies (New)

Battle in the Skies

Captain Spitfire, leader of the Atlesian Wonderbolt Squadron, regarded the rising numbers of nevermores massing above the Emerald Forest.

And they were massing. There seemed to be more of them arriving over the woods all the time; it was like that exercise that had gone wrong with the grimm lures that lured a lot more grimm than the professors had anticipated — only this time, there weren’t even any grimm lures in the forest; there were just increasing numbers of grimm over the woods.

That in itself wasn’t too surprising, since there were multiple grimm hordes assembling outside of Vale — multiple grimm hordes, multiple grimm hordes! Supposedly, you could go your entire career without seeing one single grimm horde if you were lucky, even if that was very lucky — but there were three of the things sitting outside of Vale right now, and they were only getting bigger — and while those were ground hordes, it was natural that they would start to draw in flyers as it went.

No, the surprising thing was that so many more of the nevermores were concentrated in this one specific place over the Emerald Forest, rather than being spread out across the entire horde — three hordes — spread out facing Vale.

Grimm weren’t stupid. Well, they could be stupid sometimes, especially if they were young, but when they got older, when they formed hordes, then they weren’t stupid; they had leaders who could be almost as smart as humans; some of them were even smarter. When they formed in these kinds of numbers, they didn’t do anything without a reason.

So why were their flyers forming up over the Emerald Forest in ever-increasing numbers?

The answer that came to mind was that they didn’t intend to remain over the Emerald Forest for very long.

“Okay, One Flight, with me, we’re going to take up position between those nevermores and the Amity Colosseum,” she ordered. “Flights Two and Three, I want you to gain elevation and be prepared to descend on them from above if they make a move. Flight Two on the port side, Flight Three on the starboard side.”

“Five, acknowledged,” came the response from Soarin’ over the comm.

“Nine, copy that,” answered Fire Streak.

The Wonderbolts broke into their respective flights, eight of the Skydarts taking off left or right, in a position to outflank the grimm as well as gaining elevation on them, if the grimm ventured out from over the forest closer to Vale — and towards the Amity Arena especially. The remaining Skydarts, Spitfire’s own flight, formed up on her as Spitfire guided her airship to a position in front of the grimm, so that if they did come forward, if they moved out from over the forest where they were hovering menacingly, they would have go through One Flight.

“Captain,” Wind Chill, Wonderbolt Four, said over the comm, “are we going to shoot first, or are we still holding back for the Valish?”

“Hold fire rules stand, for now,” Spitfire said pointedly. “Hang on.” She switched from the squadron frequency to the command channel. “Valiant, this is Wonderbolt Leader requesting to speak with the general.”

“Patching you through,” said Lieutenant des Voeux.

There was a moment of pause before General Ironwood’s voice came over the line. “Ironwood here, what do you have, Spitfire?”

“Sir, the grimm are concentrating their air assets over the Emerald Forest,” Spitfire said. “I think they’re up to something.”

“We’re reading that too, Spitfire; I’m moving Nova and Barracuda Squadrons into position to support you now.”

“Acknowledged, sir,” Spitfire said.

Nova Squadron was an alright squadron, and she might even have acknowledged that they were better than okay if she hadn’t her pride as a Wonderbolt to consider; Barracuda Squadron were flying Skyhawks, which were, in Spitfire’s opinion, an absolutely useless airship — yes, she was aware of all the arguments in their favour: they presented a small target, they were highly manoeuvrable while remaining relatively stationary, they were intended as a defensive airship; Spitfire wasn’t convinced by any of them — and the first thing that would be thrown on the scrapheap the moment someone gave her high rank. Or probably not, actually, because there were politics involved: the Skyhawk had been designed by one of Jacques Schnee’s … nephews, cousins, something like that — it was family anyway — and that meant that Atlas had to buy at least some of them, even if they were no good at all.

Still, she supposed they were better than nothing, and the pilots were probably perfectly fine in spite of their substandard gear.

“Sir,” she added, “you know what I’m about to ask.”

“Hold your fire, Spitfire,” General Ironwood replied. “Until or unless the grimm move to engage.”

Soarin’s voice came over the line. “Captain, this is Five, the grimm are—”

“I see them, Five,” Spitfire said, because both the radar sat in the centre of her controls inside the tight Skydart cockpit and the evidence of her own eyes were both telling her that the grimm were moving forwards out of the forest, headed for her flight — and, more importantly, that arena beyond.

And they were starting to pick up a head of speed as they came on.

“General—” she began.

“I see them, Spitfire,” General Ironwood said, his voice calm and unaffected. “Green light to engage.”

Whether it was in spite of the circumstances or because of them, Spitfire found herself breathing a sigh of relief. So much of this year, or at least the part of the year that they had spent in the skies over Vale, had been taken up with politics: don’t do this, don’t do that, ignore the grimm, play nice with the Valish, and don’t make waves. She was an Atlesian pilot, an officer and a specialist, and it rankled with her — and it rankled with the rest of the squadron too, even if they were guarded about admitting it — to have a leash placed around their necks by a succession of Valish politicians who all seemed to her to be pretty equal in their mediocrity.

But now … now, the leash was off, and there was nothing between them and the grimm.

Was that a worrying thought? The moment you took the grimm lightly was the moment one of them ate you, as the saying went, but at the same time, she was an Atlesian pilot, the leader of a squadron of Atlesian Skydart pilots, and if they couldn’t take on some nevermores, then they deserved not to land again.

And so there was some satisfaction in her voice as she said, “Affirmative, thank you, sir.” She switched quickly over to the squadron channel. “Okay, Wonderbolts, we have the green light to engage targets! All airships, fire at will!”

---

“Des Voeux, signal Resolution and Gallant; order them to engage those grimm, keep them away from the Amity Colosseum,” General Ironwood ordered, his hands tightening behind his back.

“Yes, sir.”

“Irving,” Ironwood said, “Any movement from the Valish?”

“No, sir, their ships are maintaining their present position,” Irving replied.

“Shall I hail them, sir?” asked des Voeux.

“No,” Ironwood said, without explaining why. They would find out why if — although he still had some hope that they would not — the Valish became hostile to them. “No, we’ll get this done without their help.”

“Permission to speak, sir?” asked Fitzjames from the captain’s chair.

“Granted,” Ironwood said.

“We can spare more ships to assist Gallant and Resolution,” Fitzjames pointed out. “And more airship squadrons.”

“I think that might be what they want us to do, Fitzjames,” Ironwood replied. “The grimm are holding their positions all along the line; they’re only attacking from the air in this one spot, this one spot that is almost out of their way. Maybe they want us to pull all of our cruisers and our squadrons out of position to that one spot and then, once they’ve stripped our ground troops on the Green Line of their air support, then they’ll attack.”

He wasn’t certain, of course, that that was the intent of the grimm, or of Salem — he wasn’t sure, even Oz wasn’t sure, how much control Salem had over the creatures of grimm in the field. At times, it seemed like she might have a lot, other times like she had none at all. Were they acting in accordance with her will or the dictates of their own nature? It seemed unlikely that so many grimm would have come to Vale like this without some prodding from their mistress, but did she set their battle strategies? Nobody could say for sure — but he wouldn’t put it past them. Grimm became cunning when massed in hordes like this; they tended to be led by old bastards who had seen a lot and survived a lot and knew the tricks. They knew to hang back at the rear, they knew to send in the weakest grimm first to get a feel for the enemy defences, and if they knew to avoid Atlesian airpower if they could, then he wouldn’t put that past them either. This was a feint. Probably.

If it wasn’t a feint, there were still two cruisers, three fighter squadrons, and all the Skyrays and Skygraspers for the troops deployed on the arena and Beacon down below. That should suffice.

“However,” Ironwood went on, “Fitzjames, take the Valiant closer to the arena; we’ll provide additional fire support personally.”

“Sir?” Fitzjames asked, sounding surprised.

“This ship has weapons, Fitzjames; let’s put them to work,” Ironwood declared.

“Yes, sir,” Fitzjames replied. “Cunningham, helm ten degrees to port, move forward at one third thrust, halt on my command.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Graham, bring main guns to bear on the grimm,” Fitzjames ordered.

“Aye aye, sir.”

“And des Vœux,” Ironwood said. “Patch me through to Professor Ozpin.”

“Yes, sir,” des Voeux answered, fingers flying over his control panel. “Patching you through now.”

There was a pause, with only the background noise of the Valiant’s CIC, the officers guiding the ship forward or aiming the guns undertaking their assigned tasks with quiet competence as Fitzjames guided the flagship into the battle.

Then there was an answer. “Yes, James?”

“We have nevermores moving towards the Amity Arena,” Ironwood announced without preamble. It wasn’t as though this would come as any great shock to Ozpin, what with the warning that Cinder had given them. “My airships are moving to intercept and engage them.”

There was a sound that might have been a sigh from Oz, although what with the fact that Ironwood couldn’t see him, it was impossible to say for sure.

“I see,” Ozpin said. “The battle between Miss Nikos and Miss Schnee is drawing to a close, I think; I am glad for them that they will not have to have their struggle called to a premature close without the victor decided.”

Ironwood wondered if the one who was losing the fight — probably Miss Schnee, although he hadn’t watched the battle — would be glad to see it called off early, but instead, he said, “With the numbers of nevermores, I don’t know if we can stop them getting to the arena, but I don’t think that we should order an evacuation; with the grimm in the air, the spectators and students will all be safer inside the arena then they will be aboard slow skybuses trying to get down to Beacon.”

There was a pause. “I … think you are correct,” Ozpin agreed. “I’m not entirely certain that the people aboard the arena will feel the same way, but you are right.”

“But,” Ironwood went on, “I think that we should start evacuating Beacon; that way, once we can start bringing people down from the arena, there won’t be a huge crush on the skydocks.”

“I understand your point,” Ozpin said, “but I am afraid that the skyliners will be as vulnerable taking off from Beacon as the skybuses would be taking off from the Amity Arena; the grimm may descend upon the school as easily as they may flock around the arena.”

“Hmm, true,” Ironwood murmured. “Alright, try and keep everyone calm around the school when they see the grimm flying overhead.”

“I am sure the fact that they can also see your airships flying overhead will be a great comfort,” Ozpin replied, in such a tone that Ironwood couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

“We can hope,” Ironwood said. “That’s what they’re here for, after all.”

---

Whether or not the Atlesian AF-55 Skydart was the most heavily armed airship in Atlesian service was a matter of debate and opinion; Skybolt pilots claimed that the honour went to their airship, because of that enormous Tempest cannon mounted under the nose; it was true that most Skydarts didn’t have anything quite like that, but if you were only counting the sheer number of weapons stuck on a Skydart’s blocky and narrow-winged frame then you’d come up with a number that was hard to beat. Each Skydart mounted four twenty millimetre autocannons in the nose, with two heavy cannons mounted on either side of the fuselage on the inside of the wings. Then there was the laser cannon mounted on a turret on top of the fuselage, capable of firing directly over the cockpit as well as in other directions, and that was before you got to the missiles mounted on the underside of the wings.

The Skybolt could keep her Tempest cannon; Spitfire’s Skydart was armed to the teeth.

And in every flight, there was a single Skydart — in Flight One, that was Rapidfire, Wonderbolt Three — who had an even bigger laser, almost the size of a cruiser’s main gun, slung under the fuselage instead of most of their missiles. The weight of the gun and the power supply made the airship a little slower and harder to manoeuvre than it would have been otherwise, and more dependent on their wingman for assistance, but the ability to one-shot even pretty large grimm was not to be sneezed at.

For her part, as the flock of nevermores — her instruments told her there were about sixty of them, and that seemed about right from the mass of black that Spitfire could see through the cockpit — began to close in from over the Emerald Forest, Spitfire kept her finger on the button on top of her stick that would fire the laser cannon mounted above.

She wasn’t going to tell her pilots which gun to use, but she’d be surprised if they didn’t use their own lasers to begin with.

The grimm came on, a dark mass of beating wings, their white skulls — too far away to see any of the red lines that decorated the bone — little flashes of white amongst the darkness.

She couldn’t see their eyes, but Spitfire wasn’t about to wait until she could to commence firing. Her thumb pressed down upon the button. The darkening sky directly above turned green as the laser beam lanced directly over the cockpit and towards the grimm.

It was joined by other green beams, from Silver Zoom and High Winds, the other two members of One Flight, and a red beam, broader than the green, courtesy of Rapidfire and their heavy laser. Two Flight and Three Flight engaged as well, firing down at the grimm from above on both sides, red and green lasers chewing into the flanks of the flock as it surged forwards. More laser fire came in from behind, the red beams of the Gallant and the Resolution as they opened fire with their main batteries in support of the Wonderbolts, along with another cruiser — the Valiant? General Ironwood was bringing the Valiant in to provide fire support? That was a gutsy move on his part, putting himself in harm’s way like that when he could have claimed to have been directing from the rear. Maybe he ought to be directing from the rear, but until or unless the grimm showed more of their hand than this attack by the nevermores, there wasn’t a whole lot of directing to be done: the grimm were attacking, and everyone knew what had to be done to stop them.

And right now, the firepower of an extra cruiser was not a thing to be turned away, as the red beams of its main battery tore into the swarm of beating black wingers, obliterating multiple nevermores in a single shot as it caught a group of them in a row.

The lasers on the Skydarts weren’t quite so powerful; they could kill a nevermore in one shot, if they were lucky, but equally, there were times when the first shot would only stagger the flying grimm, and you had to hit them multiple times before they would finally disappear. It was best to hit them on the wing, notwithstanding that that was harder than aiming for centre mass: a hit to the head might glance off the bone, a hit to the chest might only slow them, or the nevermore might keep on going as though a direct hit from a laser didn’t even faze it at all, whereas a hit to the wing would send them falling, and nine times out of ten, they would hit the ground rather than recover; they might heal up from a wing injury like that, but not in time to join this battle.

So Spitfire aimed for the wings, trying to send the nevermores plummeting back down into the forest they came from while they would still fall over the forest — once they got over Beacon, then sending a wounded, flightless, but still alive nevermore falling down onto the school would be a little harder to defend, especially on purpose.

She hit three on the wing in quick succession, on top of taking out a fourth one completely with a trio of shots to the chest in quick succession. One nevermore stabilised in mid-descent and rose back up to join the flock, but two more went down and down and down, down to the Emerald Forest where they’d come from, and the Wonderbolts wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore today.

Nevermores died, nevermores fell from the sky, nevermores were pummelled with fire from three sides, but the nevermores kept on coming.

“One Flight, back up,” Spitfire ordered; redundantly, because they’d all been in the squadron long enough to know what to do in this situation, but at the same time, there was no harm in reminding everyone as Spitfire put her own airship into reverse. She couldn’t see the blocky engines on either end of the narrow wings rotating a hundred and eighty degrees, but she could feel them rotating, just like she could feel the airship starting to back up, retreating away from the grimm even as the grimm flew forwards.

That was standard procedure in these situations; since closing the range only benefited the grimm, then if possible — as in, if there wasn’t some pressing physical obstacle or pressing reason why you couldn’t fall back — then you should reverse away from them, keeping the distance open while continuing to fire on them. And so, One Flight backed away from the nevermores, even as Two and Three Flights continued to hold position and bring down laser fire on what was becoming the rear of the flock, not the flanks, because the grimm were single-minded. They didn’t care about the cruisers that were pounding them from behind, they didn’t care about the fire on their flanks, not a single nevermore broke off to engage Two or Three Flight, all they seemed to care about was moving forward.

To One Flight and the firepower of the Atlesian cruisers was added more airship laser fire, more green beams streaking out across the sky, fired from behind the Wonderbolts.

“Wonderbolt Leader, this is Nova Leader; we’ve got you covered,” came the voice over the comm.

In addition to the lasers, Spitfire saw a couple of missiles fly past her cockpit to explode amongst the nevermores.

“Wonderbolt Leader to Nova Squadron, who's firing missiles?” Spitfire demanded.

“Um, that’s me, ma’am, Nova Seven,” came a nervous-sounding male voice. “I think that the missiles have more—”

“Save your missiles for the hard targets, son,” Spitfire said. “You’ll miss them when you run out.”

“A nevermore isn’t a hard target?” asked Nova Seven incredulously.

“Stay alive long enough, kid, you’ll get to recognise a hard target when you see one,” Soarin’ informed him.

The grimm were getting hammered now, their numbers decreasing, the flock of black feathers getting thinner and thinner, but they kept on coming nonetheless, their lives meaning nothing to them; they just kept on surging straight forward.

Spitfire wondered what the plan was here; grimm hordes weren’t stupid, but it should have been clear to the apex alpha of this horde — or one of them, since there was more than one horde here, which didn’t stop being ridiculous — that this attack wasn’t going to work any way you sliced it: the nevermores weren’t going to get past the Atlesian firepower, at least not in any numbers, and there wasn’t any sign of them drawing off any additional Atlesian air assets other than the Valiant, no sign of the line being weakened to deal with them. They were going to take out these nevermores, and then … what? What was the plan here? What was this sacrifice of nevermores in aid of?

They couldn’t be throwing nevermores at them just to get shot at; in certain circumstances, Spitfire might have believed that, but not from a horde like this; hordes didn’t just make sacrifices; they made them, like chess players, in pursuit of a larger goal.

One that wasn’t yet clear.

What was clear was that the surviving grimm, who, as they got less numerous, were getting better at evading the fire from the big cruisers, were still coming, and the Atlesian airships were running out of room to retreat before they’d let the grimm get over Beacon.

“Okay, Wonderbolt One Flight, Nova Squadron,” Spitfire said. “We are going to overpass the nevermores; with luck, they’ll turn and pursue; if not, they’ll show us their tail feathers. Barracuda Squadron, hold the line here.”

“Nova Leader, acknowledged.”

“Barracuda Leader, acknowledged.”

Spitfire reversed the direction of her engines once again, feeling without needing to look as the engine blocks rotated a second time back one hundred and eighty degrees until they were pointing forwards, towards the grimm who advanced as inexorably as they withered under fire.

And then she put the pedal to the metal.

Spitfire felt herself forced backwards into her chair, rammed up against it, her chest tightening from the pressure of her sudden acceleration as she drove the Skydart forwards at high speed.

Her Skydart — and the other Skydarts of her flight, and Nova Squadron too — surged forwards through the sky with a speed that the grimm couldn’t match, closing the distance between them like cavalry suddenly charging infantry on some old battlefield from before the Great War, tired of watching them slog their way across the grass when they could close much quicker and bowl them over.

This wasn’t quite a cavalry charge by airships, but to be honest, the overpass owed a little something to it.

As she sped towards the nevermores, Spitfire switched from her laser cannon to the twin cannons mounted on either side of the fuselage, on the inside of the wings. Some disagreed with her — as she could tell from the way that she could still see green laser bolts firing past her Skydart even now — but Spitfire thought that, at close range, the rapid rate of fire of the cannons made up for the fact that they didn’t have the stopping power of the laser.

There came a point when a torrent of fire had a stopping power all its own.

Spitfire held down the trigger, jinking left or right to match the movements of the grimm who made some efforts to evade, to get out of the way of the Atlesian airships that were suddenly charging towards them in a diamond formation. Spitfire didn’t move too much — she didn’t want to disrupt that formation — but she shifted her airship a little this way, a little that way, keeping a grimm under fire so that she didn’t just spit her cannon fire into the air. She didn’t get a hit on the wing, but she did watch a nevermore wilt under her sustained fire until it turned to ash and smoke before her eyes, the red indicator disappearing from Spitfire’s instruments.

And the grimm were still under fire from the flanks, although that would stop once One Flight and Nova Squadron reached them.

The Skydarts rushed forwards, aiming like a spear — One Flight were the point; Nova Squadron was the shaft — towards the grimm, but they didn’t penetrate the heart of the grimm formation, didn’t dive into the midst of the flock; if they had, then that would have exposed them to feathers launched down, even blindly, from the nevermores above them. No, there was an ‘over’ in ‘overpass’ for a reason, and at the last moment before she was in amongst the grimm, Spitfire pulled up, yanking back on her stick and being pushed back into her chair just as the acceleration impact had eased off, guiding her airship up over the grimm as she flew beyond them.

The conventional aim of an overpass manoeuvre was, once you were over the grimm, to about face and hit them from the rear; and Spitfire would turn, but not yet, because she didn’t want to hit the grimm in the rear, she wanted the grimm to turn around and come after her back the way that they’d come, and so, she kept on flying straight ahead, her pilots and Nova Squadron following as they passed over the grimm and over the Emerald Forest, hoping that the grimm, fired on and enraged, would turn in pursuit.

They didn’t. The remaining nevermores showed no sign of doing anything other than what they had been doing: keep going straight for the Amity Colosseum.

Spitfire started to turn her Skydart to hit the grimm from behind.

Just then, her instruments began to light up with warnings, the sound of beeping filled the enclosed cockpit as more and more blips appeared on her radar.

"Captain," Soarin's voice came over the comm, "we've got trouble."

"I see them," Spitfire said, because out of the cockpit of her airship, angled downwards for a turn that was half-complete, she could see more grimm rising out of the Emerald Forest, a reserve of grimm that had lain concealed within the woods but now emerged to confront the Atlesians before they could complete the overpass — the overpass they had guessed the Atlesians would undertake because it was one of their standard aerial tactics — and round upon the nevermores from the rear.

Sometimes, the grimm really were very clever.

And it sucked every time.

Spitfire knew that she had seconds, if that, to come up with a plan. The grimm were emerging out of the forest in two groups, both larger than the initial group of nevermores and getting larger. There were more nevermores amongst them, but also griffons and even some damned teryxes, the big lizard grimm.

And the survivors of the first wave of nevermores were still bound for the Amity Arena.

"Nova Squadron," Spitfire commanded. "Continue to pursue that first group of nevermores, catch them in a vice between you and Barracuda Squadron; Wonderbolts will watch your back. Two Flight, descend and engage the newcomers on the port side; Three and Four will support. Three Flight, engage the group on the starboard side; I'll back you up with Two."

"Nova Leader, acknowledging. Nova Squadron, form up on me."

"Wonderbolt Five, beginning descent."

"Wonderbolt Nine, beginning descent."

"Wonderbolt Three, moving to engage."

"Wonderbolt Two, I'm on your wing, captain."

"And for the record, Nova Seven," Soarin' added, "you see those teryxes? That is what a hard target looks like."

"Cut the chatter, Wonderbolt Five," Spitfire ordered sharply as she began to dive down on the newcomers to this battle, towards the swarm of nevermores, griffons and the three teryxes rising out of the trees. Their mouths were open, all their mouths seemed to be open, and Spitfire could imagine the roars and shrieks and screams of rage being torn out of their throats as they rushed to meet the Wonderbolts and the Wonderbolts dropped to meet them.

Chatter aside, Soarin' gave some pretty good advice, and Spitfire locked onto the largest of the three teryxes, the leader of this battle group.

The targeting reticule displayed on the inside of her visor turned from green to red, while a continuous beep sounded in her ears.

"Wonderbolt One, missiles away," she muttered and fired two Sledgehammers at him.

Spitfire watched the missiles — two of her eight — streak out from under her wings, leaving rocket trails behind them as they rushed towards the target. The teryx had a long, slender body, a torso that was scarcely any thicker than its long neck, with two curved foresaw and two flat feet and three claws half as long as a Skydart at the ends of each of them. Its tail was longer than its torso and ended in a red frill like a fan or a palm leaf. Its neck was topped with a bony, narrow, lizardlike skull with large fangs and even larger eyes. Two wings, red and leathery, emerged from either side of its round body.

The grimm, mouth opened, tried to avoid the missiles, but the Sledgehammers pursued it, following it as it rolled and dived, their trails tracing a winding pattern through the air as they got closer and closer and—

Two griffons, avian heads and feathery wings on leonine bodies, emerged out of the mass of grimm, erupting upwards into the path of Spitfire's missiles. The Sledgehammers exploded on impact, destroying the two griffons in blazes of fire but leaving the teryx alive and whole.

Spitfire gritted her teeth.

Then she was in amongst the grimm.

They were everywhere, griffons, nevermores swarming all around. Spitfire’s cannons blazed, and her autocannons too, spitting fire as she made her Skydart dance amongst the feathered grimm. She kept trying to find the big teryx, tried to stalk it through the mass, but there were so many grimm, and they kept getting in the way.

The grimm were everywhere, and they tried to claw at the Atlesian airships, tried to chomp down on them with their beaks, tried to rip the cockpits open to get at the pilots inside; the nevermores tried to get above the Atlesians and rain down feathers on them from above. The teryxes tried to swallow them whole or bat them into the cliffs with a swing of their enormous tails.

But these were the Wonderbolts they were up against, the best squadron in the Atlesian Forces, the first squadron of the First Squadron, and Spitfire’s hand-picked girls and boys were not going to be taken out by a few nevermores and griffons, or even a lot of them.

“I’ve got someone persistent on my tail.”

“I’ve got you covered, Misty; give me one second.”

“Thanks, Soarin’.”

“Blaze, you’ve got a nevermore trying to get on top of you.”

“Copy that, evading.”

“Rapidfire, I’m gonna set that teryx up; nail him, will you?”

“Affirmative; line him up for me, High Winds.”

They were calm over the comm, there was no panic, no alarm; the Skydarts moved through the sky swiftly but elegantly, slipping and sliding between the grimm, guns blazing, lasers firing, missiles shooting out from beneath the wings and leaving rocket trails in their wake. They were calm, they were coordinated, each pilot covered by their wingman. When a nevermore got behind Misty, Soarin’ throttled back until he was behind the nevermore and took it out with a couple of well-placed laser shots. When another nevermore tried to get on top of Blaze, Fire Streak let him know. And Surprise willingly let a teryx chase after her so that Rapidfire could give it a surprise: a shot from his large laser.

The grimm flocked around them, but they couldn’t touch them; they didn’t stand a chance.

But there were a lot of them, and while the Wonderbolts were dealing with them, more grimm were reinforcing — or replacing — the diminished first wave of nevermores and heading for the Amity Colosseum.

Including the big teryx that Spitfire had tried, and unfortunately failed, to take out earlier.

They passed through the fire from the main batteries on the cruisers, they endured the fire from Nova and Barracuda squadrons, they took the missiles from the cruisers — they could afford to waste their missiles on nevermores or griffons for the simple reason that they had more missiles to spare — and there were more grimm coming up out of the forest, enough to keep the Wonderbolts busy and to head for the Amity Arena.

The grimm struck the line of Nova and Barracuda Squadrons.

“Wonderbolts, break contact!” Spitfire ordered. “We are falling back to reinforce Nova and Barracuda.” After all, containment of the second wave of grimm had failed; the priority now was to assist their brother and sister fliers and try to prevent the grimm from getting to the arena itself.

“Copy that, Leader,” Soarin’ said.

“Acknowledged, Captain,” replied Fire Streak.

They did not break off in a formation; for some pairs, it was easier to do than others. They all had to shoot their way out, but some had to do a bit more shooting.

Some also had to deal with more grimm coming after them specifically, while others could roar ahead.

Spitfire and her wingman, Silver Zoom, were one of the lucky ones, blasting a pair of griffons aside to gain the open sky, racing back the way they had come.

Because Nova and Barracuda kind of needed the help. Barracuda Squadron were doing their best, but those damn flying cockpits just didn’t have the speed or the manoeuvrability for a fight like this. And Nova Squadron … it was clear that some of its pilots lacked experience.

“This is Nova Seven! I’ve got one on me! I need help!”

“Hang on, kid, I’m on my way,” Spitfire said, tapping the booster button to give her Skydart a short burst of speed that shoved her backwards into her seat as the airship leapt forwards. She could see Nova Seven out the cockpit as well as on her instruments, the Skydart with yellow stars painted on the wings, jinking and twisting and rolling as it tried to stay one step ahead of the big teryx.

Spitfire scowled.

You won’t get away from me this time.

“Okay, Nova Seven, this is Wonderbolt Leader,” Spitfire said. “Teryxes are fast on the straight line, but they can’t turn quickly — they’re too big — so pull up and get on top and behind him; he won’t be able to follow you.”

“But if I pull up, he’ll—”

“No, he won’t,” Spitfire assured him. “Trust me, kid, I’ve got you.”

There was a pause. “Okay,” Nova Seven said. “Acknowledged, sir. Pulling up now.”

Nova Seven’s Skydart began to rise rapidly in the air, the stars on his wings glimmering in the dying light as his airship climbed higher and higher.

The teryx extended its neck out, jaws open.

Spitfire fired her laser, three green bolts firing one after the other. The first one missed, but the second two slammed into the teryx, one on the skull and the other at the nape of its neck.

The teryx swung said neck around to face Spitfire, mouth open.

It looked like it was scowling.

“You’re doing great, Nova Seven; don’t drop just yet, keep your height,” Spitfire said.

Silver Zoom fired too, nailing the teryx to the torso with two blasts from his own laser. It didn’t do anything visible to the grimm, but it did keep its focus on the Wonderbolts as Nova Seven kept on climbing away from the grimm.

Which left the grimm with a choice to make: pursue Nova Seven as he climbed away or engage the Wonderbolts coming up behind him.

He chose Nova Seven, twisting his lithe body upwards and beginning to pursue. He was slower while he changed direction, allowing Nova Seven to pull ahead, only to begin gaining again once he had actually started going upwards.

“He’s still on me!”

“I know, I know,” Spitfire said, her own voice calm. “Don’t panic, kid; everything is going to be fine.” She started pulling up herself. “But I need you to fly straight and level for a little bit, okay?”

“Seriously?!”

“Seriously, this is going to work,” Spitfire assured him. “I know what I’m doing, trust me.”

“She’s right, Seven,” Silver Zoom added. “If the captain has a plan, she’s got a plan. And I think I know what it is.”

Nova Seven flew upwards, and the teryx flew upwards after him. Spitfire and Silver Zoom rose too, rising up behind the teryx, but holding their fire.

“Finger off the trigger, Two,” Spitfire ordered. “I want to be sure this time.”

“Um—” Nova Seven began.

“I guarantee, I will not let you die,” Spitfire told him. “Now,” — she paused, tapping the booster again to give the Skydart another kick, to bring her closer to the teryx’s tail — “I need you to do something difficult for me, but I know that you’re up for it because, even if you’re new at this, you’re still an Atlesian pilot. Do you have any missiles left?”

There was a pause from Seven as he kept on climbing, the teryx slowly gaining on him. “I’ve got three left.”

“Okay, that’s good,” Spitfire said. “When I give you the signal, I want you to flip around so that you’re facing downwards and stuff two missiles down that grimm’s throat.”

“I … I don’t know if I can—”

“Yes, you can,” Spitfire told him. “I know you can, you know you can. You’ve trained for this, all the simulations, all the hours of flight time. You know what to do.”

Spitfire’s targeting reticule turned from green to red as she fixed her sights on the Teryx’s rear. But she didn’t fire.

She waited.

She could hear Nova Seven’s breathing over the comm, heavy breaths, nervous breaths, breaths that got slower, and calmer.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. I … I can do this. I will.”

He kept on climbing. The teryx kept climbing after him.

“Three,” Nova Seven said. “Three … two … one!”

His turn was clumsy, his airship slid sideways in the air a little bit, and one of his Sledgehammers missed the target, dropping down towards the ground like a lightning bolt, past the teryx, past Spitfire and Silver Zoom, down and down towards the ground.

But the other missile flew straight and true for the teryx’s head.

Spitfire grinned. “Wonderbolt One, missiles away!”

“Wonderbolt Two, missiles away!”

Spitfire fired one missile. Silver Zoom, because he hadn’t fired any yet, fired two. All four missiles converged upon the teryx from above and below, even as the grimm tried to twist out of the way.

It was still turning when all four missiles struck home.

The flames of the explosions flared, obscuring the teryx’s head and parts of its torso in the flames. And then the flames cleared, and there was less of the teryx left to see as parts of it rapidly turned to smoke and ashes.

Silver Zoom whooped. “Congratulations, Nova Seven, you just got an assist on a teryx! How do you feel, kid?”

There was a pause, before Seven replied, “Lucky to be alive.”

“You’re more than that, Seven,” Spitfire declared. “You’re a fighter pilot. Now let’s go,” she added as she angled her airship back down towards the Amity Arena, the arena that was thronged now with grimm flocking all around it. “There’s a lot more where that came from.”

Comments

[AngelicTitan]

The Battle commences, and we have a pure battle scene in the air.
I am excited to see what will happen next now that the Fall has began, and Spitfire was Fire this chapter; I would love to see what is Tempest’s plan for the Fall itself and who will find Ruby and when she will be found. Things are heating up!

[Stet709]

Well... that was exhilarating.

[Voltaje]

No sunset in jail, this will play different for sure.

[Mastermind4892]

I felt like I was watching the new Top Gun movie! Awesome aerial dogfight!

First Councilor Emerald is going to feel horrifically foolish, and rightfully so, for holding back against the Grimm. How many Valish lives are going to be lost tonight because he and Novo wanted some Valish bragging rights to rub in Atlas' face?

11822767
Someone, probably Ozpin or Pyrrha, is sure to contact Ruby to check on her and Amber in the next few minutes. When there's no answer, they'll go to find Ruby asleep and Amber missing. I doubt she'll be asleep for the whole battle, like she was during the Breach. However, it occurs to me that Pyrrha deliberately neglected to inform her (or anyone else) of Cinder's accusation because she believed it ludicrous. I just hope Ruby doesn't blame Pyrrha after she wakes up, perceiving it as more of SAPR looking down on her. And also claiming that Pyrrha had no right to decide what information on an enemy shouldn't be disclosed... which is actually rather correct, sad to say.

[Cyrus Windstrider]

The humanizing of the Atlesian military in this story does a very good job of making even nameless characters, like Nova Seven, feel important and worth rooting for. Excellent writing, too, as I felt I was able to track the combat as it was happening fairly well!

[BeardedRedMane]

11822784
I think you're forgetting that Ozpin was there during the interrogation but also didn't believe Cinder so its not something where it all falls to Pyrrha. Besides if anything I think there will be a scene of Ruby hunting down Amber to get a reason and then it thrown in her face as to why its happening with probably Tempest beating her face in.

[Mastermind4892]

11822910
Ozpin at least had sense to share the info with his own fellows, and while they too didn't quite believe it, they still agreed that Tempest, Bon-Bon and even Amber should still be kept under subtle guard.

[Scipio Smith]

11822913
But Ozpin also knew that Pyrrha hadn't told anyone what Cinder had said about Amber and he approved of her silence.